Chapter Text
"He's starting to speak in sentences," Priscilla says, hefting Arthur up onto her hip. The boy watches Shiv shyly, evidently a bit wary of her. Unfamiliar. Shiv's lips press together, just slightly. "Go on, Artie, show mum what you've learned."
Shiv speaks up before Arthur has the chance- "Priscilla, I thought we were at an understanding about the nickname," she sighs, brows drawn. "I'm not into Artie. It's very... I don't know, hippie."
Priscilla nods, eyes cast down towards Shiv's son, who's still gawking at his mother like he'd never seen her in his life. Lips pursed, Shiv meets his gaze. It's a little sad. It breaks her heart. But she can't stand the little thing, and she'd learned what to do in such a case from the very best. Arthur is jostled again. "Say hi to mummy."
His little hand hesitantly rises, a kiddie little wave sent Shiv's way, sausagey little fingers clasping open and shut. Priscilla coos, and Shiv slowly raises a hand and waves back. It boggles the mind for a moment. She made that? That little stranger?
Priscilla and Arthur go off to play with blocks or something, and Shiv's left to her own devices in the kitchen. A cup of coffee, she thinks. That would be nice. Wake her up a bit. It's all in pursuance of the edge she used to have- the quick, cutthroat world of business. It turns out that spiralling to your doom is pretty thrilling. Sure, she'll drink coffee to pretend she's doing more than puttering around the house all day.
She hears Tom come in the door from the other room. "Hey, Artie! Hey, scamp," he says, voice all high and excited like he's talking to Mondale, and it makes her stomach turn as she sips her bitter coffee. He makes his way back into the kitchen with her, and wraps an arm around her in a side hug, rubbing her shoulder. "Hi, honey. You ready for tonight?"
Deep breath. "Ready as I'm gonna be, Tom," she answers coolly, setting the mug down on the counter and turning to face him.
"It'll be nice," he assures her with a little smile. He sure is trying. The effort calls some dark feelings up her throat. "Did you talk to Roman? Is he coming?"
She shakes her head.
"He said no?"
"I haven't gotten a hold of him yet."
"You tried, though?" he asks, a note of aggravation lurking in his voice. Shiv shrugs, lips pressed together into a thin line, and Tom frowns in response. "Okay. What about Kendall?"
Siobhan shakes her head."Mm-mm. He doesn't want to sell. Hung up on me when I asked."
"Well, what's the point of that?"
"I don't know," she huffs, crossing her arms. What, like she's Kendall's keeper?
"Did you ask why not?"
"Why am I running around trying to woo my brothers for you? What the fuck, Tom?" Shiv says suddenly- her burst of aggravation not unlike a snake striking. Tom hardly reacts, the brick wall that he is.
"I just thought they might be more receptive to family," he offers in explanation.
"Okay, well, you thought wrong. Kendall hates my guts and Roman doesn't want shit to do with Waystar."
"Which is why this is the perfect opportunity for them to, y'know, wash their hands of the whole thing," he says, shrugging. Shiv doesn't offer any reply. After a tense moment, Tom continues, "Lukas would really appreciate if he didn't have to worry about huge shareholders who hate his guts."
"Don't pitch to me, go pitch to them! Or get Matsson to go pitch to them!"
"He wants me on it."
"Then you'd better get on it," Shiv offers with a mean smile. "I'm not playing assistant for you, I'm your wife."
"You're not exactly playing wife for me, either," Tom points out, voice low. "I think Priscilla is actually doing more in the wife field than you ever have."
Shiv's eyes widen, mouth agape- "Supernanny? Why, because she wipes Arthur's ass?"
"Among other reasons."
The rest of the coffee swirls down the drain, mug abandoned in the bowl of the sink.
"She's warm, Shiv," Tom says- his voice is tight, strained.
"She's the help, Tom! And she's- she's fucking ditzy!" She's talking too loud but she doesn't care. The play noises from the living room go quiet.
"She's a good mother," says Tom.
"She's not his mother!"
"Did you know he's got a bit of an accent? Very posh." Spoken with a bitter little smile.
"You don't know that that's from her- Could be fucking. Peppa Pig!"
"It's embarrassing," Tom says, a simple shut down. "Every. Part. Of our marriage has been humiliating."
Shiv's jaw clenches. "The feeling is mutual."
Tom's fingers tap against the bar chairs as she storms out. He's looking down, won't meet her eyes. She can't hardly imagine why she stayed here. This endless fucking nightmare of a marriage- why would a baby change anything? Or a new house, or a new job- why would any of it make any difference? What was she thinking? She can't fucking stand this guy! No power is worth this! As if she has any fucking power, anyway. Her chips were bet for her, and she fucking lost.
She marches right through the living room, hardly sparing Priscilla and Arthur a second glance, even as Priscilla's incensed eyes trail behind Shiv. Oh, yeah, she'd definitely heard Shiv's opinion of her. There's a third presence in the room, though, one that immediately catches Shiv's attention- Cousin Greg, all folded up like a lawn chair, perched in their recliner, still holding Arthur's little toy phone. Her jaw clenches. You've got to be fucking joking. Greg at least has the sense to look somewhat guilty as she passes, like he knows he's not supposed to be there- then again, he always fucking looks like that. It seemed like a general sort of weasely incompetence was just his vibe. Regardless, she plows through the living room and holes up in the den, pulling out her phone as she shuts the baby gate behind her.
Mondale wags his tail from his cage, looking up at Siobhan as she mashes buttons on her phone.
Ringing. Ringing. Ringing.
Jesus fuck, Rome, pick the fuck up.
Ringing. Ringing. Voicemail.
She hits end before it beeps, already putting in a new number. Kendall.
Ringing. Ringing. Ringing.
This silent treatment is getting old, she thinks, chewing the inside of her lip.
Ringing. Ringi- click.
"Ken," she says, right as he speaks-
"Shivvy," he says, utterly flat voice at odds with the nickname. "Two calls in one week, you're spoiling me."
"Are you coming to the dinner tonight?"
"To get wined and dined by the Wambat? Uh, pass," he says. He's distracted; she can tell by the hesitation, by the lilt of his words.
"Please, I'm getting the brunt of it. You won't ever have to hear another word if you come tonight."
There's a sigh, crushed into a light wash of static over the phone. "Not interested, Shiv, no."
"There's got to be some kind of shape here," she offers, crossing her arms, pacing idly around the room. "I know you could use the capital. Heard you were sniffing around that social media startup."
"I'm not sniffing around shit," Kendall denies, so smoothly that she knows it's a lie. He's so practiced at it. She's so not in the fucking mood for it.
"Okay, well, Roman's coming, and so is Conner, so I guess you're just gonna be fucking. Left out in the cold with your dick in your hand, like usual," She lies back, heels clicking as she slowly paces the hardwood floor. Kendall pauses on the other end of the line. He's so fucking easy.
"Rome's going?" he repeats.
"Uh, yeah." Spoken like it's no big deal.
"Okay. Why do I care that Rome's going?"
"I don't know, Kendall, you clearly fucking do. Whatever. You stay curled up in Dad's mausoleum while we all get on with our lives, I don't care. Watch your inheritance crumble to dust while Matsson fucks the price into the ground. Doesn't make any difference to me," she says, words tumbling out a little faster than she'd intended, but it works all the same.
"Jesus, Shiv," comes her brother's stunned tone over the line. As if any of this was anything new!
"Right."